A True Desire
by bobdabuilder0804
Summary: COMPLETE One characters desire.... can't summarise! R and R please! COMPLETE


The pain looked unbearable, each short breath he took triggered sharp spasms of hell through his stomach, and shudders up his spine. The shudders only inflicted more of the agony upon him as he squeezed his eyes shut in despair.

He had been walking home when they had grabbed him, silly bastard was high and drunk, hadn't he considered the possibility of them coming after him? It was an obvious play, he had hurt them, and they wouldn't stop until they had their revenge. He had let his guard down, or maybe he didn't care. The men watching him had noticed that he didn't have anything going for him since he had returned to America.

The music was loud and the girls were dancing, their eyes not daring to glance in the direction of the suffering man. It was quite a party, bottles of beer and wine were stacked along the long, he never went without one in his hand. Each time a person finished the can or bottle they were drinking from it would be launched at the man, the men erupting in laughter as he tried to move away, as he gasped in pain as the material bruised and tore at his skin.

He knew he had a reputation for being sadistic, but that was because of his the discipline he enforced throughout his organisation. If anybody failed, they were punished. If they disobeyed, they were killed. Enemies were killed, one shot to the skull, no need to waste resourced torturing the people when they would meet the same fate through the cost of a single bullet.

But this was different, it was personal. Still, he didn't change his usual routine too much. A handful of men who had performed well throughout the week were here, making the most of the free beer, and the chance to insult, hurt and humiliate the man they had once took orders from. Once upon a time… And that didn't normally happen. It was just he and his brother who observed and performed the execution.

When he had first laid eyes on the man at the compound he felt his anger rise and his face redden in anger. He hadn't see fear in the mans eyes, instead he saw defiance. In that moment he knew he was going to make this different, worse, he was going to make the man before him pray for death.

His fists had clenched as his body tensed, he wasn't used to disobedience, he expected respect and admiration. And from this man, this parasite, he took the glare as an insult and threat. The man knew he would die, the moment he was snatched, so now he was just making things harder for himself in an attempt to keep his pride. Even he knew it couldn't last long.

The men who had brought him here had been silent and the air was tense, everyone could feel it. The six lucky men were already partying in the large barn with a few women he had bought a while back, so he fought the urge to hurt the man here, he would wait. Wait until he had an audience, who could see his brutality first hand, and could fill the man before him with shame. He would beg for his life, he could see it now.

He had nodded his head in the direction of the barn and the two men had dragged him away. He had stood alone for a moment, studying his reaction to the man. He was beyond his anger, frustration, he felt something he had never experienced before; disappointment.

That changed when he entered the barn. Once he stepped inside the brightly lit room his game face was on, a beer bottle in is hand and a cruel grin on his face. He was going to enjoy this, stripping this man of his humanity. Nobody would disappoint him again.

His hands weren't restrained and that made the whole ordeal more pleasurable, as he watched the man struggle to be released from the two men's grip. It was a pointless effort, even he knew that if he got away from them he wouldn't escape the barn. If he somehow did do the impossible, he knew without a doubt he wouldn't escape Mexico. Any effort would be worthless, which is why he enjoyed the struggle, they both knew it was for nothing.

He took a few steps forwards towards him before drawing out a small black gun, not the usual riffle they used for this sort of thing, this would be different, more enjoyable. He aimed at Jack's midsection and fired, a thrill running through him as the man collapsed to the ground moaning as the white hot pain spread throughout his body. The shot hit him In the stomach. There was no exit wound and no vital areas had been hit. He could survive this, but he wouldn't. That was the point, it would take a while before the man actually died, they would draw it out, until eventually he would be released from his living hell.

The men had all laughed and taunted the man who lay on the floor, clutching his midsection, barely aware of the cheers, all he felt was the pain. He managed to pull his jacket off and wrapped it into a ball and held it against the wound. It didn't help with the pain but it was good to have something to squeeze on, the try realise the pressure he felt from the wound.

His blood was slowly flowing into the hay floor, but nobody cared. There were old blood stains dotted around the room, the room had only one purpose only, execution.

The spectators watched in a haze as the mans jacket was taken from him to maximise his discomfort. Then his shoes, socks and shirt. The blood soaked through his white undershirt and it was a pleasure to see, he had waited so long for this.

People shouted insults at the man, threw trash at him using him as a target. It was a pleasure to watch, Ramon realised, it was easing him, helping him relax. Eventually the interest was lost in the withering man on the floor and the men were more interested in the women. It was time to heat it up, he wanted the attention to be on the man, he wanted him to beg for mercy.

The men gathered around him in a semi circle as ordered and the wounded man was pulled up into a sitting position. He was barely conscious, his only reality was the pain each haggard breath created. Someone slapped his face and pulled a bottle up to his lips, he was forced to drink. Some of the liquid slipped down his lips and onto the moist red shirt, some dribbled down his parched throat. The man pulled back and spat the foul tasting substance out. It was a tequila bottle but it contained something else, probably turps or some other hazardous material. His throat burned and did nothing more than add to the growing frustration as he couldn't escape the pain.

More men laughed at him, offering him more, and finally his stomach could take no more of the brutality he had been subjected to. He rolled onto his side and threw up, once, twice and a third time. One of the flunkies gave him a few kicks for this before the leader made an announcement; he was sick with fear. The men seemed to like this, but it only angered the man more. He was not scared, the sickness came from accepting the fact that he would die this way, by these men's hands. Not a big believer in himself he still felt that it was unfair and perhaps he deserved better than that. But no.

The shirt that had been taken from earlier him was thrown at him as he was instructed to clean his mess up. More empty bottles found their way in his direction, along with an eager mans belt which was brought down against his back repeatedly, causing him to finally cry out in pain and despair. He couldn't take much more. The leader noticed how the man was merely spreading his mess around and saw it as an opportunity to mock him more, as he was dragged to his feet and held up by three men who noticed he couldn't stand, his eyes were drooping.

He was slapped more roughly but it was a hand prodding the gun shot wound that convinced him to try be alert, at least try make them kill him quicker, so he could stop this. It was then he noticed the camera, sat on a desk, recording everything. Suddenly everything seemed worse, the humiliation he felt was multiplied by a power of ten and his face reddened. In what? Anger, shame that others would see this? No, it was the feeling of rejection, knowing you couldn't do anymore, that he couldn't save himself from this monster. He held out this long, and they hadn't saved him, he couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't fight any more. It was over. The leader smiled as he saw the look of defeat creep up on his victims face.

He lost conscious soon after that and his body was treated to another round of kicks, all aimed at the wound which had started bleeding faster due to the aggravation. The leader noticed this, and glancing at his fake Rolex, also noticed it was getting late and he was tired. He could tie the man up and wait for him to bleed to death, but he would get no pleasure from that, he wanted to be there the moment his life ended.

They dragged him from the barn and out into one of the crop fields, someone emptied a canteen of water over his head to wake him. It didn't work, so a capsule was used to rouse him. He started to drift away almost immediately but then he saw his tormentor, the look of glee in his eye and the object in his hand. Despite the raw pain and torture he had been submitted to he felt fear for the first time now.

He had the drug, the damn drug. He couldn't go out that way, he just couldn't. Not with that filth. The leader noticed his dread and grinned, maybe now he would get what he longed for, pleas to stop. He didn't, but he did get tears. Tears and sobs as the man finally cried in pain and anguish. It was enough, and the camera was getting it all so he could bask in the feeling of joy over and over again. Finally, after all of this time, he had broken the man.

He stood over him and waved the syringe in his face, telling him he had a choice. Take the drug or another bullet, it wouldn't be long before the first one finished him off anyway. In his last act of stubbornness he pointed to the gun, his hand trembling and his body weak. He closed his eyes in acceptance, the pain still too hard for him to focus on anything longer than a minute at best.

The gun went off, the cheers didn't come this time, the air was still. It was over, no more party. The men left but the killer stayed, eyes fixed on the body before him. He felt good - better than good, once again he had rained over someone who had done him wrong. He finally understood the true meaning of the saying, 'revenge is best served cold.' They were right, tonight had been more delicious than ever before.

The banging of the guards platoon against the metal bars were startling, and the man jumped up, he had dozed off. The guard stood behind the bars, a metal tray resting on the slot for his cell, waiting for him to take it.

"I'll not as you twice, take your food Ramon."

Ramon reluctantly moved from his spot on the shabby bed and took the tray, resting it on his lap as he stared at the food. Cold potato and an apple. He grabbed the apple and tossed it between his two hands as he thought about his brother.

"Hector is a good brother, and soon he will turn his key in the lock. When that happens Bauer better be ready for us…."

He closed his eyes again desperately trying to remember the dream, it brought a sense of satisfaction and pleasure. He couldn't wait to kill him for real, when he could smell the traitors blood and taste his fear. It won't be long Bauer….


End file.
